“You would…offer me…payment?” All the warmth vanished from her expression. “Let go of me, Captain. I will not be your whore! You care about nothing but satisfying your own lust.” She wriggled out of his arms. “You are just as selfish and arrogant as the rest of your kind!” She pointed furiously at the wall that had held his collection of weapons. “That is all you Europeans know, selfishness and violence and greed. You take whatever you want even when it does not belong to you!”
Saxon gritted his teeth, wondering how in the world this had become a political discussion. “But you do belong to me,” he reminded her. “You said so yourself, last night. Several times.” He folded his arms over his bare chest. “You might even persuade me not to put you off my ship when we reach the Andaman Islands, if you work very hard to please me—”
“I will not be ‘working’ to please you at all, sahib.” Ashiana clenched her fists, her eyes turning a frosty blue. “I will never say yes to sharing your bed. I would rather be your prisoner!”
Saxon glanced heavenward, sighing in exasperation. If he lived a hundred years, he would never understand the female mind. She was a harem girl who had spent most of her life training in the sensual arts. Why must she insist on viewing his perfectly reasonable offer as an insult? “Fine.” Turning on his heel, he strode to his sea chest, opened it, and took out some fresh clothes, letting the lid fall with a resounding thwack. “Enjoy your solitary stay in my cabin.”
She called after him as he stalked toward the door. “Do English captains deny their prisoners food and water, or shall I be allowed something to eat?”
Opening the door, he looked at her over his shoulder. “Certainly. How about a nice piece of qandi?”
He slammed the door behind him and threw the bolt in place.
“Lusting bandar. Back end of an unt. Angrez!”
Her fists still clenched, Ashiana glared at the spot where Saxon had stood a moment ago and vented all the insults she wished she had said to his face. Comparing him to an ape and the back end of a camel wasn’t quite adequate, but the last word seemed to sum him up.
Angrez. English!
Truly, Captain Saxon D’Avenant was a shining example of his kind. She had been wrong to think him honorable and gallant. What kind of man could look at her with such warmth in his eyes, only to make such a cold, indecent suggestion a moment later? Offering to allow her to serve him in bed in exchange for payment! Wicked, unfeeling…what was the English word he had used?
Scoundrel. Yes, that was it.
She also found it intolerable that he kept calling her a thief! Evidently the man lacked not only decency but any sense of irony.
She paced from the door to the windows and back. Merciful gods above, yesterday she had thought she would only have to endure one night with this English scoundrel. Now they would be spending five weeks together.
He seemed to have the power to provoke her with a single word or glance. And every time she was close to him, she could feel an indefinable…something shimmering between them that made her heart beat faster. And for some reason, she could not stop noticing the way he looked—the chiseled angles of his face, his muscular chest and arms, the way the morning light played through his golden hair.
She couldn’t even seem to breathe properly in his presence, which left her feeling tingly and strange. It was not an unpleasant sensation, which only unnerved her all the more. And his kisses…
Nahin. She must stop thinking about that. His kisses had the most unsettling effect on her, filling her with all sorts of…longings that were not at all suitable for an Ajmir princess.
Or for a lady of any kind.
Especially a lady spy who was supposed to be thinking only of her duty.
Ashiana walked over to the bookcase, glancing down at the corner where she had hidden the sapphires. Something else Saxon had said bothered her: that the item she had taken from him last night was “something of great value to my family.” What had he meant by that?
If his family needed money, he could have sold his stolen sapphire for a princely sum years ago. It would have provided enough for all his relations to live like royalty.
Why hadn’t he done that?
Crouching down, she reached out to touch the wall. She could not ask him to explain why. And she must not concern herself with his family. The sacred stones were of great value to her family, to the Ajmir, who had suffered and sacrificed so much to guard them for centuries. If the sapphires were taken from India, the maharaja had said, legend foretold that chaos and ruin would befall not only their clan, but all the people of this land.
She must not allow the jewels to be stolen and sold off to satisfy the greed of foreign invaders.
Studying the wall in the bright morning light, Ashiana frowned, realizing that the tools she had used to pry the boards loose had left scratches on the wood. If Saxon happened to notice the marks…if he discovered that she had not only his missing sapphire but all nine, right here under his nose…
Swallowing hard, she sat down, pressing her back against the wall. She tried to reassure herself that all would be well. He did not begin to suspect the truth about who she was or the treasure she protected.
Nor did he realize that he was taking her exactly where she wanted to go.
A smile curved her mouth as that thought lifted her spirits. She had scarcely been able to hide her relief and joy when Saxon announced their destination. Little did he know that he was helping her to complete her mission!
Soon she would be home, with all nine sapphires, safely reunited with the maharaja and her family.
All she had to do was stay in this cabin until they reached the Andaman Islands. And not give the scoundrel any reason to toss her overboard.
And not kiss him again, she added firmly.
Wind fluttered the petals of the yellow and red flowers draped around her neck. She looked up at him, her voice as sweet as her smile. “Husband.”
An arrow hissed past him—
Saxon wrenched awake and upright all at once. “Mandara!”
The phantom arrow still whistled through his mind as he realized where he was. No reply came from the darkness surrounding him, the star-scattered sky above, the hard English oak of the deck beneath him.
The only sounds were the snap of the East India Company ensign overhead and the lap of the waves along the Valor’s hull. The night air that filled the sails ruffled his hair and chilled the sweat from his forehead.
He was on the aft deck and had sat down only moments ago. Swearing, he scrubbed a hand over his face. The nightmares had tormented him since the wedding, playing out his wife’s murder in agonizing detail every night. The images faded slowly, leaving behind a raw feeling of emptiness. And guilt.
It was as if Mandara’s spirit were haunting him, reminding him that her death was his fault.
And tonight, perhaps, haunting him for a new reason.
Saxon pushed himself to his feet, crossing the deck to the rail. He had tried to sleep in a hammock in the empty sickbay, until he had given up and instead attempted to wear himself out with physical labor, stacking eighteen-pound iron shot down on the gun deck. Which hadn’t helped in the least.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the English rose in harem silks who was presently enjoying a solitary night in his cabin.
Saxon leaned out over the rail, letting the cold, wind-gathered spray sting his face. He couldn’t fathom why Ashiana so commandeered his thoughts. She had made it clear that she would not be sharing his bed. She had no interest in becoming his mistress. The matter was closed.
Which meant there was nothing to feel guilty about.
He simply needed to stop thinking about her.
About the honeyed softness of her lips…and the way her blue eyes darkened with arousal when he pulled her close, the color like a midnight sky…and that little gasp of pleasure she made when he kissed her throat at a certain spot just below her…
Saxon hung his head, shutting his eyes.
Hellfire and damnation, he had been celibate too blasted long. That was the only explanation for this. His physical appetites had been bottled up for an entire year, and now he was becoming…irrational. Like some inexperienced lad besotted by a glimpse of a revealing décolletage.
He pushed away from the rail and paced over to the mizzen, climbing into the shrouds just high enough that he could watch the ship’s wake, frothing the sea off the stern. Normally if he had trouble sleeping, he would work at his charts or his logbook—but they were in his cabin, the one place he couldn’t go tonight.
Leaning back into the rough, thick ropes, he chastised himself for being overly indulgent with his pretty prisoner. If he had any sense, he would toss her in the brig and be done with it. Why should her delicate feminine sensibilities matter to him? She wouldn’t be in this situation if she hadn’t tricked him and stolen his sapphire.
But even as he reminded himself of that, he knew he wasn’t going to lock her in the brig. It was little better than an iron cage in a dank corner of the hold. He couldn’t bring himself to leave her alone down there in the darkness, with the mice and whatever else might be crawling around.
So here he was, wide awake, prowling his ship all night…while she slept in blissful comfort in his cabin.
From amidships came the sound of the Valor’s bell, rung four times by one of the crewmen on night watch. Dawn. The sun would be rising soon. Saxon rubbed his bleary eyes.
The next five weeks were simply going to be hell. There was no other word for it. He would be counting the days until they reached the Andamans and he could get Ashiana off his ship and out of his life.
He waited until late morning before he went to his cabin. By the time he opened the door, bright sunlight streamed through the mullioned windows, warming the room and tracing a latticework of shadows over the bed. He had thought to find Ashiana still dozing comfortably among the fresh white sheets and plush pillows. But she wasn’t where he expected her to be.
She was, in fact, balanced against the wall that used to play host to his collection of weapons—upside down, her legs stretched gracefully toward the ceiling, her weight supported on her forearms, her eyes closed.
And she was wearing one of the fresh white sheets.
She had folded and knotted it around her to form a sort of sari and leggings.
He halted in the doorway and stared. “What the devil are you doing?”
Her eyes flew open, but she didn’t lose her balance. Saxon realized he had spoken in English and repeated his question in Hindi. She unfolded herself with easy grace, lowering her feet to the floor and standing upright.
“I was meditating,” she said, as if it should be obvious. “As I do every morning.”
“Upside down?” He belatedly shut the door.
“It is my favorite yoga asana, pincha mayurasana, the feathered peacock pose. It promotes calm and mental concentration.”
“Feathered peacock,” he echoed in puzzlement. He had never understood the appeal of the odd practice the Hindus called yoga. He couldn’t see how twisting oneself into knots or turning upside down could promote anything but a headache. “And what in Hades are you wearing?”
She looked down at her makeshift garment. “Your naukar-man, Nickerson, when he came with washing-water and food, I…gave him my clothes to be disposed of. I could not wear them again. They were…too badly torn.”
Saxon felt a sharp stab of guilt. “I see.” He walked over to his sea chest. He’d sent Nickerson, the ship’s steward, down with food and water for her yesterday. He hadn’t thought about the fact that her clothes would be unwearable…after what he had done to them.
He opened the chest and dug through it until he located the book he had come here to find, a bound volume of Company navigational charts. Taking it out, he closed the chest and moved toward his bookshelf. He noticed a pair of small books sitting on his writing desk.
“I see you helped yourself to my library.” Glancing at the titles, he slanted her a look. “You were reading the Kama Sutra last night?”
“It is the only volume you have in Hindi. And only part of it is about…your favorite pursuit.”
He noticed a blush coloring her cheeks. “Yes,” he said wickedly, unable to keep himself from teasing her. “The best part.”
Giving him a disapproving frown, she came over and sat in the chair next to his writing desk, between him and the bookshelf. “If you would read it instead of only looking at the pictures, you would realize that most of the Kama Sutra is about family and love and living a virtuous life.” She opened the other volume on the desk, its pages filled with calligraphy and watercolor sketches of trees and mountains. “I found this one very beautiful. Where is it from?”
“It’s a collection of Japanese poetry.”
“You are able to read poetry in Japanese?”
“No, I bought it because I thought it was beautiful.”
“Arey,” she said in soft surprise, looking amazed that he was capable of appreciating literary beauty. “It appears that you have collected books from many faraway lands. Have you been to all these places? Do you speak many languages?”
“Yes, and a few.” He had to move around her to reach his bookshelf. “Most of these are biographical works, military histories, treatises on the exploration of the oceans—”
“You are a man of learning.”
“There’s no need to sound so shocked.” He studied his collection. “At sea, the nights are long and often dull. Books are a way to fill the time…” Glancing her way, he arched one brow. “Unless one is able to find a lovely companion willing to provide other entertainment.”
“You should get a bird,” she suggested lightly. “Birds are lovely and make entertaining companions. Perhaps a parrot?”
He sighed. “How wonderful that your sense of humor hasn’t suffered during your imprisonment.”
“A sea captain should have a parrot.” She nodded, warming to her subject. “You might also take up a musical instrument. The sitar is very nice.”
Fighting a grin, Saxon returned his attention to his bookshelf.
“Yes, that would be wonderfully entertaining!” she continued with enthusiasm. “You could train your parrot to sing while you accompany it on the sitar.”
Saxon shook his head. “I have no plans to acquire either a parrot or a sitar.” He took a couple of explorers’ narratives from the shelves, hoping to find more information about the Andaman Islands. Then he bent down and reached for a dusty atlas wedged in sideways on the very bottom shelf.
“Captain.” Ashiana suddenly rose from her chair. “Would you happen to have any women’s clothing aboard your ship? I am afraid this garment I made is not terribly practical.”
He straightened and turned toward her—just in time to see her adjusting the knot at her décolletage. The top of the makeshift garment shifted, and just for an instant, he caught a glimpse of bare, luscious curves.
Desire flooded his senses. All at once he was aware of the throb of her pulse at the base of her throat, the smooth ivory of her skin against the white sheet, the swell of her breasts barely contained by the cotton fabric. In a heartbeat, his entire body was aching with need.
“Yes,” he said hoarsely, forcing his attention back to her face. “Yes, I believe I can find you something more suitable to wear.”
Something a damned sight more substantial than a sheet.
Gathering up his books, he left to search for something as drab as possible. A nun’s habit would do splendidly.
Unfortunately, as best as he could recall, no nun had ever set foot aboard the Valor.
Ashiana exhaled in relief as Saxon shut the door solidly behind him and locked it. Tread most carefully, she warned herself. You are playing with fire, Ashiana of the Ajmir.
Precisely how far might she have to go to keep him from looking too closely at that corner near his bookshelf? She decided not to ask questions she could not answer.
At least the man was fully clothe
d this morning, so she was not faced with a display of bare, tanned skin and flexing muscles every time she glanced his way. Today he wore his white shirt buttoned all the way to his throat, with another garment atop it—a snug-fitting, fawn-colored one with gold buttons—and breeches in the same dusky color, and his boots. He had tied his hair back, although a few windblown tendrils escaped at the front and fell over his eyes.
Ashiana frowned, bewildered that she had noticed every detail of the way he looked. Never had a man’s appearance captured her attention in such a way.
When Saxon did not return after a long while, she settled on the floor beside the wall, stretched upside down and folded herself into urdhva padmasana, a headstand with lotus legs. Settling into the challenging pose, she chanted a calming mantra, trying to focus her scattered thoughts. She had scarcely begun to meditate when the door opened.
Startled, she stood up warily. She wished the man would be more predictable. It was impossible to be certain when he left whether he would return in hours or minutes.
He no longer had the books with him, but he was carrying an armful of clothing, which he dropped on the bed. “This should do. I won’t have you distracting my crew by walking around in a sheet.”
“I am not certain how it would be possible for me to distract anyone when I am locked in your cabin.” She walked over to the bed to see what he had brought.
There was a long, heavy garment made of scratchy, gray fabric—like a choli bodice and paridhana skirt, but all in one piece, with long, uncomfortable-looking sleeves and a high neck. Tangled up with it were two other skirts, plain white, edged with simple flounces. And an odd-shaped piece that was very stiff when she poked at it. It seemed to be made of flat pieces of bone!
One Night with a Scoundrel Page 11